Close Call
by Fang323
Summary: It's interesting that most pirates can't swim.  Arthur was a pirate.


Hey there, Fang here. Just a rambling about something with Pirates not being able to swim...I thought it was interesting. And you know...Arthur was a pirate...so...you figure out the rest. NO historical meaning here at all...but hope you like it anyway!

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><p>"Hey, Artie, you wanna head back? I mean, come on man, it's pretty here and all, but I'm huuuungry…" Alfred held his stomach and grimaced comically at his brother. Arthur pretended not to hear his comment and walked further up towards the edge of the lake. Alfred glared at the retreating back and followed.<p>

Arthur had wanted to visit some lake in his country, something about the natural world doing something for the soul or crap like that, and now the American was bored as #!*% . This is what he got when he didn't listen to what Arthur was saying.

"Just a few more minutes, you git. As I remember, we came here in my car, and I believe the keys are in my pocket, so you're not going anywhere." Arthur smirked. He was at the top of the ledge now, and stepped forward to gaze down into the depths of the water.

" #!*% …oh come on, Iggy! I can drive too, you know." Alfred complained. He plopped down on a large rock with a huff.

"Oh, yes. Because driving on the right side of the road in England just makes bloody sense, doesn't it?"

"Well, it's not my fault you British people are screwed up."

Arthur looked back at his brother, a ready retort at his lips, but decided against ruining his mood.

Alfred yawned. "Alrighty…Dude, I'm gonna wait in the car…even the dirt is bored!" he ignored an eye rolling from Iggy. "Don't die while I'm gone, old man!"

"I'm not bloody old, you wanker!" Arthur yelled. Alfred only laughed as he strolled back to the car.

Silly Iggy…Alfred chuckled to himself. That guy wouldn't stop trying to say that he wasn't an old coot. Not that he actually was, Alfred knew that Arthur could definently handle himself in a fight. Still…Arthur could stand to have someone at his back once in a while. The stupid stubborn streak that was so characteristic of him tended to be a pain in the #!*% .

Alfred was almost to the car now. Maybe he could find some of Iggy's CDs…wonder what the #!*% he listens to? Alfred laughed; maybe it was that old medieval crap…

A gigantic splash was heard from behind him, along with Arthur's voice crying out in surprise and fear.

Alfred whipped around to face that same ledge Iggy had been standing on. Only, this time, Arthur wasn't standing upon the end, and that end was noticeably shorter. Alfred stood a second in shock, and then the desperate splashing and gurgled cries brought him to his senses.

He cursed and ran. The ledge took a good three minutes to walk to, but Alfred cut that down to about a minute. He stopped just before the edge, panicking when the cries he had heard before disappeared.

"Arthur!" He yelled, before dashing the last few steps to the still crumbling ledge. All he could see was a glimpse of blonde hair disappearing under the water, that a few minute before had looked crystalline blue and peaceful, but now showed its true colors hidden beneath its murky depths. Alfred literally threw his bomber jacket and glasses off and prepared to dive in without pause: Arthur couldn't swim.

Alfred hit the water smoothly, eyes open. The sun shone through the water well enough, but without his glasses, it was still quite blurry. He didn't have time to think about that, though, Iggy had to be close by. He dove deeper.

Each second was an eternity, ticking away so slowly that Alfred couldn't bear to keep track anymore. Just a little further, he told himself, trying to calm the panic that was blossoming larger as his need for oxygen did. Just one more stroke, and I'll see him. Arthur you idiot, hold on!

He knew England couldn't die, since he was a country. But the feeling of not being able to breathe, to lapse into unconsciousness for who knows how long, Alfred refused to let him suffer that ever again. Once was enough…no, he didn't want to think about it. Arthur was here. And he was going to find him.

Alfred looked around the darkening water, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the building pressure in his lungs. No…was it…there! Alfred shot downward a few feet, reaching out for ht suspended hand and arm, limp in the surrounding water. He snagged the sleeve quickly, pulling the attached body toward him. Arthur appeared from the blurry darkness, most likely unconscious, and Alfred wrapped his arm around his torso, hugging the older nation to his chest. With a powerful kick of his legs, he propelled the both of them to the surface.

Alfred broke into the land of air, drawing in large gulps of oxygen into his burning lungs. Iggy's head lolled onto his shoulder, water rushing in rivulets down his face. Alfred began making his way to the closest source of land, which was the same promontory that had crumbled under his older brother's feet just a few minutes ago.

Although the water was deep, the jutting piece of land was only about two feet tall above it. Alfred easily grabbed the landing with his long arm, and hefted his and Arthur's upper bodies up out of the water. His other arm threw Arthur onto dry land again, and then he pulled himself up, following. It was harder to move now that his clothing was soaked, but right now, that wasn't his biggest concern.

"Arthur!" he crawled over to his friend, unconscious still. Alfred put a hand to the Brit's mouth: Arthur wasn't breathing.

Alfred cursed and turned the water-logged man onto his stomach, then positioned his hands below Arthur's diaphragm. Pushing up, he tried to force some of the water from his lungs. Two more pushed later did the trick. Arthur coughed, liquid spewing from his mouth, and then struggled to draw breath.

Alfred rushed to Arthur's side, supporting him to his knees as his older brother hacked helplessly, discharging more water onto the grassy surface. His arms shook as they tried to support his weight, and would've given out had Alfred not wrapped an arm under Arthur's chest to keep him from falling. His other hand was firmly rubbing Arthur's back, trying to soothe him as well as disperse the remaining fluid in his lungs.

After what seemed like a minute or two, Arthur finally stopped. His heavy breathing didn't even out though, and so Alfred held him up a moment more, before Arthur's shivering body began to lean sideways. Alfred let him collapse onto himself, his head falling on the American's chest, eyes closed.

Alfred reached as best he could for his glasses, which were lying on top of his jacket. He shoved Texas up his face, and then lifted the Brit up off his torso in order to slide the jacket under him. He wrapped it firmly around Arthur, and tightened his grip. Arthur took a shuddering breath, and opened his eyes to glare at the American.

"I suppose I should thank you for that…" Arthur's voice was whispery and raspy; probably temporarily damaged from coughing his lungs out.

"Yeah…it might be nice…" Alfred joked, rubbing Iggy's shoulder. Arthur let out another feeble cough, and let his body go limp.

"Bloody…thank you." He mumbled.

"Don't mention it. Just don't scare me like that again."

Arthur shivered, as the wind had picked up, and instinctively hugged the jacket to his body, and moved closer to America's slight warmth. His emerald eyes widened at whose jacket it was, and Alfred chuckled. But Arthur, surprisingly, didn't move to take it off, but struggled to sit up fully. Alfred supported even as Arthur succeeded, keeping one arm around his shoulders.

"You git, I'm fine now. You can let me go." Arthur's words didn't match his actions; he didn't bother to shrug off Alfred's arm. Alfred ignored the half-hearted complaint and began shaking his head wildly, spraying water from his hair everywhere, including on Arthur.

"Stop that, you wanker! What are you, a bloody dog? Don't get me any more drenched!"

Alfred laughter was heard from even across the lake, but cut off immediately when Arthur's last outburst left him doubled over, coughing. Alfred grabbing his brother's shoulders until the fit had past, and then leaned him onto his shoulder. Arthur didn't bother stirring.

"Dude, it's getting cold out, and it's so not good for you to be out here." He gripped Arthur's soaked upper arm and helped pull him into a standing position. The sun had almost gone down, and with the lack of light and small warmth, the sold was almost biting, even to the American. Supporting more of Arthur's weight, they slowly make their way down to the Englishman's car.

"And this is why you should learn how to swim, dude." Alfred commented, only half-jokingly. Arthur grimaced.

"I'm not going near any bloody water for a year…" he bit out.

"Iggy…when you're an island, that doesn't tend to work out."

Arthur mumbled a few curses, but stayed silent until they had made it to the car. He found the strength to fumble for his keys which were, miraculously, still in his pocket.

"Dude, maybe I should drive." Alfred held his hand out for the keys, and Arthur handed them to him albeit a little reluctantly. Alfred opened the passenger door (he almost messed up because of the British way of cars, but he caught himself) and helped bundle Arthur in, jacket and all. As quickly as he could, he got into the driver's seat (wet clothing made it difficult) and shoved the key into the admission. The car roared to life, and he turned on the hot air as soon as he could. They drove in silence for a while, Alfred trying to remember to drive on the left hand side of the road, and Arthur lost in his thoughts. Arthur finally broke the quiet.

"You can just drop me off, alright?" he murmured, eyes half-closed.

" #!*% no. I'm staying tonight."

"You git, I can handle myself! It's not like I'm dying…"

Alfred shook his head. "Look, think of it as making me feel better, alright? I know you can take care of yourself."

Arthur mumbled a bit, but the American heard the word "Fine", so he assumed the Brit had finally agreed. Alfred scratched his head; his hair was finally beginning to dry.

He glanced a look at Arthur five minutes later, concerned that he hadn't hard a word from him. Arthur was slumped over in the seat, asleep, holding on tightly to the bomber jacket wrapped around him. His hair was even more messy from his ordeal, if it was even possible. Alfred grinned to himself, and drove on. After all, older brothers, no matter how much they complain, need watching over too.

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><p>AUTHOR'S NOTES:<p>

Hope you liked it! Poor Iggy, he needs more love. But I love his character type...He's so awkward...but that's what makes him great...

And if you didn't like it...sorry...I wrote it late at night...I really have no excuse...

But I hope you will review, either way! I love them so much...I really do...Thanks!

-Fang


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